


shooting stars could never shine so bright

by Laora



Category: Gundam 00, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual ensemble cast, For now just some tiny Allelujah angst, Gen, Gundam 00 Week 2017, I have put so much thought into this AU, more chapters will come...someday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: Many years ago, Allelujah had a friend in the orphanage. When he arrives at Hogwarts for his first year, scared and utterly alone but for the madman in his head, he finds her again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gundam 00 Week happening over on Tumblr (g00week), for the prompt 'duality/AU.'
> 
> Just to make things clear, this is somewhere between a mashup and a crossover, in that the 00 characters have always lived in the HP universe; they haven't been sent there out of their own time. However, the HP characters and universe are still in full swing—the bulk of the 00 cast starts at Hogwarts the year after Voldemort is defeated by baby Harry.
> 
> (I've also messed with pretty much everyone's ages from 00, because otherwise everyone would be in different years, and that's no fun D:)
> 
> As mentioned in the tags, I have a whole lot of oneshot ideas in this universe, so I can't promise eventual plot, but I can promise I've got more in store for this fic! Don't know when I'll be posting them, unfortunately, but probably not for a while.
> 
> In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Minerva McGonagall checks the address on her slip of paper one last time, glances to the address of this run-down orphanage, and squares her shoulders. She has visited many a Muggle orphanage, after all, to offer children a place at her school, and this one should be no different. Her clothes—a sharp suit jacket and slacks—she knows are impeccable and pass flawlessly in their society (though her wand is stowed in easy reach), and no Muggle has questioned her too closely, yet.

This should be an easy trip, to tell this Allelujah Haptism about his magical powers and give him his Hogwarts acceptance letter, so why do her instincts feel differently about this particular building as she walks up? It’s an orphanage like any other (perhaps more rundown, but these things are not uncommon, especially in the aftermath of such a reign of terror as You Know Who’s), and she takes a deep breath, banishing the thoughts from her mind as she reaches to open the large front door.

Something tingles over her skin, something like a spell—and she stops short, her hand going to her pocket as she glances around. It feels more like a ward than anything else, but the fact that it exists in this Muggle orphanage at all—

She sees no immediate threat—even the man behind the desk in the front lobby pays her no mind as he bends over something behind the counter. So she steps forward, her hand still wrapped around her wand, and approaches the desk.

“Excuse me,” she says, and as his head snaps up, Minerva can see him hastily stowing a binder of paper to the side.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice a tad surprised though he hides it well.

“I am the deputy headmistress of a private school,” she says, already prepared to deflect questions about the nature of her school or what it studies. “I’m here to offer one of your children a position within it, if he would like to join.”

The man blinks, considering her from behind thick glasses. “The children here, regrettably, have no money to pay for a private education,” he says, cordial enough, but Minerva’s eyes narrow. “I’m afraid—“

“Rest assured, should Mister Haptism wish to join us, the charity fund will cover his expenses,” she says, and frowns a bit as the man shows no recognition at the name. “I would like to speak with him, if that would be agreeable.”

“Haptism…” the man trails off, obviously uncomfortable, and Minerva’s instincts—already on edge—only sharpen. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name—perhaps he’s a new arrival? I can ask—“

She’s _stupefied_ him before he’s even realized she’s drawn her wand. The spell’s powerful enough to keep him out for several hours, but she may run into trouble if someone sees him like this. She’ll just have to work quickly, then—and reaches behind the desk unceremoniously, retrieving the binder and flipping it open.

Her stomach turns as she sees what’s written within, though—it’s clearly a log of children held here, with photographs, birth dates, and other information listed on each page, but instead of names there are only codes. None of them—even the newest arrivals, as she flips quickly to the back—have names at all, and for a moment she can only stare, wondering exactly what kind of organization this is. She has no time, though, and will gain nothing from the binder’s contents—so she sets it down on the desk again, raising her wand and casting a charm to detect magic within the building.

There are three bright spots, and she moves quickly toward the nearest. She wonders in vague horror whether Allelujah will even remember that that is his name, and then wonders if he will be in any fit state to attend Hogwarts at all.

(Either way, she will ensure this place is shut down—that every child within this building is found a new place to stay, that those in charge will be brought to justice in the Muggle criminal system. This building has rubbed her the wrong way since she Apparated into an alley nearby, and magical wards—combined with the deplorable environment she’s found herself in and the dehumanization of the children—are only cementing her realization that this is not an ordinary orphanage.)

The first child she finds appears to be no older than an infant, for he is behind a thick door that (with a quick _alohamora_ ) contains an overcrowded room full of cribs. She glances down the rows, ensuring that none of the children are in any acute danger, and forces herself to ignore the ones that started squalling as she opened the door.

The second is a young girl, perhaps six or seven, playing at dolls with a friend in a small room with far too many beds. Minerva does not open the door after peering in the small window, and only moves on to the last room her charm directs her to. The door is labelled _E-0057,_ and when she looks in its window, she finds an even smaller bedroom with only one child held within, lying on the bed. Though their hair is long and more reminiscent of a girl’s, this must be Allelujah Haptism.

She squares her shoulders, hopes this poor child isn’t too damaged for her to take him away, and knocks sharply on the door.

She sees him look over sharply and consider her from the other side of the window. “Hello?” he asks, his voice quiet and barely decipherable through the door, but he looks more confused than anything as he stares at her.

“Hello,” she says, a little louder, to make sure he can hear her clearly. “Would you mind if I came in?”

He shrugs, seems surprised that she’s asking at all, and she frowns briefly before reaching for the door handle.

Allelujah watches her warily as she sits at the tiny desk, and swings his legs over so he’s sitting up on his bed. “Who are you?” he asks eventually, looking from her face to her sharp suit. His skin is tanned, and his hair is dark, covering the right half of his thin face—and his body is rail-thin. Not quite malnourished, though he doesn’t seem far from it. She swallows down her rage, and forces herself to reply.

“My name is Professor McGonagall,” she says, making her voice as kind as possible as she leans forward. “I’m here to offer you a position in my school this fall, if you would like to attend.”

“School?” he asks, sounding surprised, and Minerva frowns a bit. “My marks aren’t very good, everyone says so—why would you want me in your school?”

Minerva tries to hide a frown; what kind of person would discourage a child from learning, even go so far as to tell him he’s not cut out for it? But she’s dealt with worse than this, after all; she’s dealt with troubled children with awful home lives before. Surely, she will be well enough equipped to help Mr. Haptism. “It’s a school for special individuals,” she says carefully.  “You have unique abilities, Allelujah, and—“  
  
She’s ready to go on, explain the magical world to him as gently as she can, but he jerks, suddenly sitting up straight and giving her his full attention. “How do you know my name? Did you talk to Marie?”  
  
He looks suddenly so hopeful, so excited, that she feels awful that she has to tell him no. “I haven’t met Marie, no,” she says, very gently, and continues as his face falls. “It was only the name that appeared on our potential student roster.”  
  
“But…“ he hesitates, looking despondent, “Marie’s the only one who’s ever called me that! How would you know—?”  
  
“The roster lists whatever you call yourself,” Minerva explains, and watches as his brows furrow. “It’s one of the perks of magic, you see, and—“  
  
She isn’t expecting any sort of reaction to this statement, or mild confusion at the most—but what she _absolutely_ doesn’t expect is for him to jump to his feet, his visible eye widening in horror—and then there is a butter knife aimed at her face, retrieved from under his pillow and held in two shaking hands. “I won’t have anything to do with magic,” he says, his voice sharper than she thought possible—though his face is so clearly full of fear that her heart aches for him. “You—just, go away, right now, or I’ll scream for help—“  
  
“What?” She’s totally lost, here—thrown off everything she’s ever experienced while talking to new students. “Have you had an experience with magic before?” But why would he be so opposed to the idea? Unless—  
  
His face contorts, and he doesn’t lower the butter knife from in front of him as he says, “The wizards took Marie away, and then they—they—“  
  
He grasps at his head suddenly, pulling at his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. Minerva half-rises, reaching out for him—asking what’s wrong—but he recoils from her hand, muttering things under his breath.  
  
“Mister Haptism,” she says sharply, not pulling away, because whatever’s happening—“Allelujah, I swear I will not hurt you. But you need to tell me what’s wrong—“  
  
“Go—away,” he says, his voice strained, but Minerva has the strange feeling that he’s not talking to her anymore. “I hate you, I—“  
  
“Mister Haptism!” she says, a little louder, reaching forward to grasp at his shoulder—and he looks up at her suddenly, through his hair—it’s flown askew, and she can see that his eyes are mismatched: steely grey and blinding gold. “Mister Haptism, you need to calm down—“  
  
He shudders once more before falling still, his hands still in his hair and his head bowed. “Mister Haptism,” Minerva starts, entirely unsure of what she just witnessed—but when he looks up again, his hair once again covers his right eye, and his left is wide in fear as he looks up at her.

“Please don’t take me away again,” he says, begs, and her grip tightens involuntarily on his shoulder.  
  
“No one will hurt you while you are at Hogwarts,” she promises him, because though she’s not entirely sure of why he’s so scared of the magical world, she thinks she can guess. “it’s the safest place in England, I promise you.”

“But the wizards, they—“ he cuts himself off, twisting away from her and curling in on himself on the bed. “Magic, it—“

“Magic can be used for good or bad,” Minerva explains, very gently. “There have been a lot of bad wizards in the country, for the past several years. But they’re gone now.”

He seems to consider this, and though his head is still bowed he does not take his eyes off her. “I don’t trust you,” he says eventually, and she supposes she can respect that. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I could show you some harmless charms, if you’d like,” she offers, and his face blanches. “Or, I suppose I could bring you a book from our library about magical history. I suspect those would be rather more difficult to falsify.”

Allelujah hesitates. “I’m not—very good at reading,” he admits, looking worried, as if wondering if this would upset her. “The teachers here, they’re—they’re not very good.”

“That’s quite all right,” she says, and makes a mental note—if he does come to Hogwarts—to ask Madame Pince if there’s a way they can help with that. “I’m only trying to think of ways to make you comfortable.”

“What if I don’t want to go to your school?” he asks, a challenge growing behind his voice though he’s clearly wary of speaking it aloud.

“Then that would be your decision,” she says with a small nod, “and I would not fight you over it. However…” She takes a quick glance around the room, at the stiff mattress and the bare walls and the small chest that seems to contain all of his possessions, “I suspect that you would do much better, should you come to Hogwarts. You’ll make plenty of friends, and the education is among the best in the world.”

He looks up at her properly, then, and there is something else besides the fear on his face. “You don’t want me in your school,” he says, very quietly. “I’m not very smart, and—and I—“

He flinches, one hand going to the side of his head, and falls silent. “I can assure you that our students come from all levels of means and abilities,” Minerva says after a moment. “You are not the first child who has come from an orphanage, and you certainly will not be the last. And the fact that you showed up on our student roster says you have plenty of magical ability already.”

He frowns at that, but says nothing, only waiting for her to continue. “It’s entirely up to you,” she says gently, leaning forward a bit, looking him in the eyes. “But if there’s anything I can do to convince you that all magic isn’t bad…”

He hesitates, looking at her, before something shifts in his eye. “Do you have good doctors?” he asks, and she blinks, unsure about the change of subject. “Marie, she’s—she’s really sick. The doctors, they say she’s not gonna wake up, but she _has_ to—“

He looks suddenly desperate, hopeful that Minerva will be able to help him, and she finds she does not have the heart to deny him. (Even if, if his friend is a Muggle, magical cures will do less than nothing to help her.) “Where is she?” she asks gently. “I—I have a dear friend who is a very good Healer. I can certainly ask her to come and look Marie.”

Allelujah rattles off the name of a nearby hospital—even giving her directions to it from the orphanage—and Minerva wonders how many times he has been to see his friend since she fell ill. “I’ll ask her to come out as soon as she can,” she nods, and Allelujah looks so thankful, so relieved.

“Do you…” He trails off, looking unsure of himself, and she waits patiently for him to continue. “You said—the bad wizards are gone now? They’re not coming back?”

“The war is over,” she says, because telling him they will never come back would be an outright lie. “And Hogwarts is warded against every dark spell imaginable. There are—there are certainly kind people and mean people everywhere, including our school, but nobody will be allowed to hurt you—or anyone else.”

He blinks, considering this, before something relaxes in his shoulders. “Can I please come?” he asks, his voice very small. “The adults here, they’re—they’re really awful, and you’re…nobody’s as nice as you,” he says, a little quieter, and Minerva’s jaw clenches.

“Of course,” she says, not quite forcing a smile onto her face as her mind itemizes everything she’ll need to do to dismantle this orphanage and get the children to safety. “Hogwarts will be happy to have you, Mister Haptism.”

.

.

Diagon Alley is like nothing he has ever seen before, and as Professor McGonagall shows him the entrance through the back of the pub later that day, Allelujah finds his eyes growing impossibly wide.

She had braced him, before leaving the orphanage, and said that there will be wizards and witches everywhere on this busy street, especially as school is so close to starting. Many of them will have wands and will be performing magic, she said, and had even pulled out her own wand to bring a bunch of flowers into existence, right in his tiny bedroom.

The sight of a wand (the sticks that have haunted his nightmares but have never had a name) had sent his heart stuttering, but Professor McGonagall had not pointed it anywhere near him, had nearly turned her back, as if performing a magic trick, before turning back around with the bright daisies, a smile on her face. “Magic is used mostly for good,” she explained gently, and Allelujah does not remember any adult ever speaking to him like that. “I hope Hogwarts will be able to show you that, Mister Haptism.”

She had warned him about this street but it does not fully prepare him for the overwhelming activity around him. Men and women and children walk around—some in regular clothes, some in long robes of varying color (and the first time a tall man in black walked toward him, he had spooked so badly that Professor McGonagall had to put a hand on his shoulder to snap him out of it). They’re all chatting loudly, their voices overlapping with the one in his head to the point that Allelujah cannot keep up with it all.

After all, Hallelujah has been screaming about the stupidity of his decision since the first time Professor McGonagall arrived, and Allelujah doesn’t expect him to stop now that they’re surrounded by wizards.

Professor McGonagall had explained gently that Hogwarts will be able to pay for used robes, books, and supplies, as well as a brand new wand of his own (which he had blanched at, before Hallelujah suggested that it might be useful to defend themselves). She leads him gently into a bookstore (the pictures on the sign are moving despite being carved out of wood, and he had stared open-mouthed until she had ushered him inside) and goes to the till at the front to retrieve his books, and Allelujah follows, rather lost, looking around at all of the books surrounding him.

He’s never much been one for reading, if only because the orphanage never supplied him any books—but the sheer number of them in this store is fascinating. He wishes he had money of his own to spend, so he could pick one out for himself, to see if he would like reading, given the chance. But Professor McGonagall had said that the school would pay for all of his things, and he doesn’t want to ask her to pay for even more—so he only stands quietly in the shelves by the till, waiting for her to be finished.

“Oh, hello—are you going to Hogwarts, too?”

He jumps badly at the voice and turns, and Hallelujah cackles as his heart speeds up. But the voice belongs to a girl his age, a little shorter than him, with thick brown hair and a pink shirt. A woman is close behind her, carrying an armload of secondhand books herself, and Allelujah stares at them both a moment before nodding slowly. The girl’s eyes are bright as she looks around the store, and they grow more excited still when he agrees. “I’m Chris,” she says, and it’s a moment before he realizes she expects a reply.

“I’m Allelujah,” he says, and can’t force his voice to be much louder than it already is. Chris doesn’t seem perturbed by this, though, and starts asking him excitedly if he knows much about the magical world yet, because she just found out about it last week and this is all so interesting and isn’t a magic school _exciting_ —?

“Christina,” the woman says, an admonishing tone to her voice as she walks past them, toward the cashier. “Don’t overwhelm him, I’ve told you again and again—“

“Sorry,” Chris says to Allelujah without missing a beat, ignoring the woman completely, and Allelujah looks around for Professor McGonagall to help him. He’s not sure how to interact with this girl, after all, and she’s more than a little overwhelming. She grabs his arm, and he jumps badly; to his relief, she releases him quickly, looking at him with a little concern as he stares at her with wide eyes. “You…okay?” she asks, a little more hesitant, and he finds himself nodding even though he’s really not. She still looks concerned, though, and Allelujah is just trying to figure out how to escape when McGonagall returns, a bag in one hand.

“Mister Haptism,” she says, looking surprised as she catches sight of him. “Miss Sierra, I see you’ve met?”

“Yeah!” Chris says, perking up a bit as she looks up at her. “Are we gonna both be first years? Do you think we’ll be in the same house?”

“You are both certainly first years,” Professor McGonagall says, “but the Sorting will have to wait for your first day of school. Being sorted into different houses, of course, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.”

“Of course not!” Chris says, and her eyes are shining as she beams at Allelujah. “We should be going,” Professor McGonagall says, maybe picking up on his discomfort, and gestures for him to follow her.

“She brought you here?” Chris asks, her eyes growing even wider. “Woah, you’re getting the special treatment, huh?”

“Christina,” the other woman says sharply from behind them, and the last Allelujah sees of Chris, she’s turning indignantly to confront her. Professor McGonagall sighs as they leave the store, though Allelujah thinks there might be a little smile on her face as well.

“Miss Sierra means well,” she says, as soon as the door closes behind them, and Allelujah glances back, as if he could still see her. “She’s a Muggleborn witch—neither of her parents are magical, but she was accepted to Hogwarts. She’s…understandably excited.”

Allelujah hums, glancing down the street as a child shouts. “Where do we need to go next?” he asks, and McGonagall hesitates, looking down the street as she thinks.

“Ollivander’s is nearby,” she says, and he blinks at her, unsure what she means by this. “It’s the best wand shop on the continent,” she says, and he stops short, “but if you’d prefer we do that later, or even another day, that’s perfectly all right.”

“You said wands are used for good,” he says, a little louder, and she nods, looking at him appraisingly. “And—and I’ll need one for school, right?”

“You will,” she agrees, and smiles all the brighter as he tells her to lead the way.

.

.

Professor McGonagall gave him money for a cab to the train station, and he guards it jealously as September 1 approaches. The other children have never paid him much mind, especially after he—after he got back, but the adults have more than once demanded to see inside his trunk. Luckily, Professor McGonagall put a charm on it—she explained—so that it wouldn’t open until it was on the Hogwarts Express.

It’s necessary to keep his things safe, but it means he can’t examine any of his new textbooks beforehand, get in the habit of reading so that he won’t fall behind in classes. But he realizes the necessity of it—and on his way out, early on the first of September, he’s stopped by three separate people, asking suspiciously where he’s going.

“School,” he tells them, the word getting stronger every time, and when he finally gets outside, there is a taxi waiting patiently for him.

“King’s Cross, son?” the old man asks kindly, and Allelujah nods, accepting his help in lifting his trunk into the boot of the car before sitting gingerly in the backseat. “You heading off to school?” the old man asks, once they’re settled and on the road, and Allelujah answers quietly in the affirmative. Professor McGonagall had told him that people without magical power weren’t to know about this new world, and he’s not sure whether telling a clearly non-magical taxi driver that he’s going to school will get him in trouble. Now that he thinks on it, he wonders if those in charge of the orphanage—those who would actually realize he was missing, at some point—shouldn’t have been told, either.

He worries and does not answer the old man’s questions as the drive goes on, and eventually he stops asking them. “You all right, there?” he asks in concern, turning around once they’ve parked. “You look pretty scared.”

“I’m okay,” Allelujah says quietly, digging in his pocket for the money and handing it to the driver. “Thanks very much for driving me.”

“That’s my job,” he says, a little bemused, though a smile is on his face nevertheless. He helps Allelujah get his trunk out of the car and onto a trolley, and then waves before driving off down the busy street. Allelujah swallows, worries (ignores Hallelujah’s laughter, which has been background noise since the moment they left), and makes his way toward the station.

He remembers Professor McGonagall’s instructions clearly: he just needs to walk at the wall between platforms nine and ten to find the secret door to the Hogwarts Express. He repeats this to himself again and again, trying to keep out of everyone’s way in the busy station as he makes his way down the line.

He sees other children—his age and older—also with large trunks, some with owls or cats stacked atop them. Allelujah stares at them, wishes he could have afforded an animal of his own (though he knows he’d never be able to care for one), but follows one family at a distance. Two of their children have old battered trunks, just like his, and though neither of them have any distinguishing animals, the man with them—their father, he reminds himself—had said the word _Muggle,_ and he hopes that means they’re also going to Hogwarts.

The whole family has garishly red hair, which makes them easy to pick out in a crowd—and there’s another, younger, boy holding his father’s hand, complaining loudly about not being able to go to school. “You’ll be there in a few years, Percy,” the father says soothingly, as Allelujah struggles to keep up. “You’re not old enough, you know that.”

Percy visibly huffs, though the sound is lost in the station, and Allelujah slows as he passes Platform Nine. Sure enough, the red-haired family has stopped, and the oldest child grins a bit at his younger brothers before weaving his way through passers-by, disappearing as he hits the magical wall. Allelujah blinks, his mind trying to process exactly what he just saw, and by the time he’s decided magic must be more powerful than he thought, the second child’s gone through, as well.

The father looks around a bit, as if seeing if anyone’s watching him, before his eyes alight on Allelujah—who has crept forward, now only a few feet from them. “Hello,” he says cheerily, waving with his free hand as the younger boy turns. “You going the same way?”

“I’m—going to Hogwarts,” he says, unsure, and wonders suddenly if there is more than one magical train behind this wall. But the man beams at him, so he assumes it must be the right answer—and the man glances around, as if for his parents, before he gestures him forward. “Why don’t you go ahead of me and Percy?” he suggests. “See if you can catch up with Charlie—he’s a first-year too, maybe you can sit with him on the train!”

Allelujah blinks but agrees, if only not to upset this man who seems so eager to help. He awkwardly maneuvers his trolley through the crowds until the wall is right in front of him—

And then he’s on a different platform entirely, and _HOGWARTS EXPRESS_ is displayed proudly before him, and he blinks at this new mass of people. Most of them would pass as Muggles, he supposes, but many of the adults are wearing robes, and the owls and cats are more concentrated here; the noise and smell are overwhelming. He doesn’t see Charlie or his brother, and doesn’t particularly want to stay on the platform where parents are hugging their children good-bye—so he walks up to the train by himself, parking the trolley near the steps up and trying to haul it himself. It’s a lost cause, he realizes quickly; it’s heavy, and lifting it a couple of feet off the ground on his own seems impossible.

“Need some help?”

He jumps at the voice (wishes he could relax) and turns to see a tall teenager with brown hair grinning at him. “Here, lemme get that for you,” he says, reaching down and pulling his trunk up with only a little effort.

“Um, thank you,” Allelujah says quietly, and the guy beams at him.

“I’m Neil Dylandy,” he says. “Slytherin prefect—if you need any more help, let me know, yeah? Or my brother’d be just as good, he’s a prefect too, for Gryffindor. Don’t worry about telling us apart, no one can.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling kindly as he looks at Allelujah.

“Thank you,” Allelujah says again, feeling ridiculous and wondering what Neil thinks is so funny. “I will.”

“You’re a first year?” he asks, and Allelujah nods, wondering if it’s really that obvious. “You have anyone to sit with?”

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s not quite a lie—after all, Charlie’s dad suggested he sit with him—or if he finds Chris, he supposes sitting with her wouldn’t be so bad. Neil’s grin widens at that, and he waves at Allelujah as he starts to head the other way, down the train.

Allelujah blinks after him, tries to commit his face to memory in case he _does_ need help in the future, and starts dragging his trunk down the hallway.

.

.

Charlie is in a loud compartment full of other boys, and he does not see Chris, so he decides to sit with a small boy of Middle Eastern heritage similar to his own, near the end of the train. At the very least, he asked hesitantly if anyone was using the seat, and the boy hadn’t even looked up from his book to say no, so he figures it will be a quiet ride.

It’s all right if he doesn’t want to talk; Allelujah doesn’t feel like it, either. He only stows his trunk below the seat opposite the other boy and waits for the train to leave, wondering how long the trip will take.

They’re joined by another boy with bizarre, purple hair, moments before the train leaves. He doesn’t say a word of greeting to either of them; he only sits in the chair on the other end of the bench from Allelujah, pulls out a thick book, and does not look up from it for the rest of the ride. Allelujah hesitates, thinking of pulling out a book of his own—but he doesn’t want to look ridiculous in front of his future classmates, and he’s been mocked in the past for his slow reading speed and his tendency to mouth words. He knows he’s being silly (and to be honest, neither of them are paying enough attention to him to even notice such things), but he doesn’t want to make a bad impression—so he sits in his seat quietly, watching the landscape as the train finally starts to move.

He dozes on and off, and jumps badly when the car door slides open several hours later. “We’re nearly there,” a boy with a long ponytail and blue-trimmed robes says. “You guys will need to put your robes on before we arrive, all right?”

Allelujah agrees, after several seconds of the other two not saying anything, and the boy smiles brightly at them before moving down the hall. Allelujah glances to the other two—the Middle Eastern boy has opened his trunk, rummaging around for robes, while the purple-haired boy is still furiously reading, apparently eager to finish whatever section he may be on. Allelujah wants to comment, but is frankly terrified by the speed at which his eyes are moving across the page—so he only reaches into his own trunk, pulling out his robes and throwing them on quickly.

The train stops, and it’s nearly dark outside as Allelujah hesitates in the compartment, wondering where they’re supposed to go. The purple-haired boy stows his book, glancing to the two of them scathingly before leaving them behind in the compartment with his trunk. Allelujah figures he doesn’t seem the type to forget something that important, so maybe they’ll bring their trunks up to the school later—and follows after him tentatively, the other boy not far behind.

.

.

Allelujah is entirely too awe-struck by the enormous castle to follow what is going on around him. He’s never seen a building this big before; he’s never seen anything so beautiful, either, and even as they are led through back rooms to wait for the Sorting ceremony, he cannot stop from staring around with wide eyes, trying to take everything in at once.

The Great Hall is even more incredible, with its ceiling mimicking the night sky, floating candles, and—and talking hat, and he stares, open-mouthed, as it begins to sing. Everyone else in the hall—the older students and the professors and even some of his fellow first years—seem cheered by its song; it’s talking about how this year begins a new era of fresh chances for house unity and friendship. It mentions a war several times, and Allelujah wonders vaguely what that’s about—if it has anything to do with the evil wizards Professor McGonagall mentioned.

The Sorting begins quickly after the enthusiastic applause for its song dies down, and Graham Aker—a loud, blond boy who even Allelujah had noticed in the waiting room—is sent off after a few scant seconds to Gryffindor. Allelujah glances to the table yelling the loudest—their robes are trimmed with red, and they seem a cheery, raucous bunch. He glances to the other tables—which all seem cheery and loud, too, he supposes—and wonders which one he’ll be joining.

He doesn’t know anything beyond what Professor McGonagall told him of the four houses, and even then, she didn’t tell him much. “Bias will do us no good,” she had said, when he pressed her for details about what each house is like. “You will be a great asset to whichever house you join, Mister Haptism.”

He supposes that’s a nice thing to think, but his stomach flips as they work their way down the alphabet. Saji Crossroad joins Hufflepuff; Tieria Erde—the purple-haired boy on the train—causes something of a stir when he is sorted into Ravenclaw. As Feldt Grace is sent off quickly to Gryffindor, Allelujah finds his stomach twisting in fear. Leaving bias behind is all well and good, except that he has no idea what he’s getting himself into for any of these houses. The hat’s song had been cryptic at best (ambition and cleverness and patience and bravery, and he thinks he doesn’t fit into any of the above), and he finds terror welling in his gut as he stares, as Louise Halevy sits down on the stool, wondering what will happen to him.

Louise joins Slytherin after some deliberation, and then McGonagall is calling his own name, and his feet carry him numbly up to the stool. She smiles encouragingly at him as he sits, his shaking hands clutching the seat as she lowers the hat onto his head.

“Well, this is something new,” a voice in his head muses, except it doesn’t sound like Hallelujah—and he panics for a moment as Hallelujah starts cackling. “I’m the hat, boy,” the voice says, sounding rather chagrined, and Allelujah blinks, wondering how on earth this is even possible. “I’ve never had to sort two people in one body before…which of you am I even supposed to sort, hm?”

 _Don’t listen to him_ , Allelujah hurries to think—hoping the hat will hear him. _Hallelujah, he—he’s not the same as me. I don’t even want him here._

“It seems he doesn’t particularly want you here, either,” the hat points out, and Allelujah’s stomach lurches. He—he came first, this is _his_ body, and Hallelujah wouldn’t be able to survive without him—right? “He would do quite well in Slytherin,” the hat continues. “I think Salazar would have quite liked your alter ego.”

Allelujah’s grip on the stool is tightening, though he scarcely notices, so lost as he is in his own head. _I don’t want anything to do with him,_ he thinks at the hat sharply, and Hallelujah’s laughter increases in volume as the hat hums. _We’re nothing alike—_

“That’s quite true,” the hat concedes, and seems to think for a moment before shouting “HUFFLEPUFF” to the Great Hall. Hallelujah whines about the unfairness of it all as McGonagall lifts the hat from his head, but Allelujah can only feel relief. He smiles back to McGonagall before going to sit at the table beside Saji, who welcomes him with a smile, saying he supposes they’ll be roommates from now on.

Allelujah realizes this is true and makes an effort to be kind to him—and the other students at the table—as first years continue being filtered between the four houses. The table’s filling up, and Allelujah’s mind starts to wander as they reach the second half of the alphabet—he wonders whether the food at this school is just as amazing as the architecture. But he glances up automatically every time a name is called, and so when Soma Peries walks up to the stool, he plans to watch for a few seconds just to be polite. But he freezes when he sees her, because—

Because it’s _Marie,_ walking up to the stool and sitting down upon it. It’s Marie, and he’s never been so sure of anything in his life; that’s her hair, long and pale, and that’s her face—though it’s a bit more stern than he remembers. But he has not seen Marie in over a year, not since the orphanage barred him from visiting her in the hospital—and he’s half out of his chair before he realizes what he’s doing, before Saji pulls him back down by his robes, asking in a whisper what he thinks he’s doing.

The hat takes longer to sort Marie than it has anyone else, though, and people are just starting to mutter about something called a _hatstall_ when the hat finally announces that she is to join Slytherin. Marie jumps to her feet, looking a little annoyed as she hurries her way toward the appropriate table, and Allelujah’s gaze follows her until she sits down, and even her hair is lost among the crowds. “Do you know her?” Saji asks uncertainly, and Allelujah blinks several times before turning back to the table.

“Yeah,” he says, but that doesn’t nearly encompass what Marie means to him—and he plans to approach her as soon as he gets the chance, and ask Professor McGonagall why she didn’t tell him that they were able to cure her.


End file.
